


On Mangera

by CReed



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: After the Fall, Cannibalism, Cooking, Healing, Honeymoon, M/M, Romance, slight gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21738880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CReed/pseuds/CReed
Summary: Out of the two, Will is the less injured of the pair. A few stitches, a little physical therapy, and he'll be right as rain. Hannibal wasn't so lucky. Even a man as strong as him can be knocked down a bit by a bullet to the abdomen. While Hannibal heals, it gives Will time. To think. To adapt. To evolve once more. This might be the first time in his life that he is completely honest with himself. Free. With Hannibal beside him. As it was always supposed to be.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 99





	On Mangera

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhere in the timeline shortly after The Fall. Like, while they're healing from the fight with The Great Red Dragon, shortly after. Before the hint at the end with Bedelia or the deleted scene/alternate ending. The honeymoon, if you will. I'm playing around with ideas, obviously, and I think with what we know from S3, this is plausible. I wanted to explore something from Will's POV this time, since the last piece I wrote he wasn't even conscious in it.
> 
> And look at that. I happened to finish this on my birthday. Happy birthday, me!

****

**On Mangera**

Will was never one to gloat. Not really. He was an asshole but he was an asshole in other ways. He didn't need to gloat. He knew his strengths. He knew when he was good at something, and he knew when he was the best. Almost four years ago when he told Jack Crawford to find someone else to help him with his string of abductions, he wasn't being entirely honest. He told Jack there were others who did exactly what he does. It was never an inflated ego that made that a lie. No one does what he does.

Even knowing that, even not sauntering into gloating territory, Will had to admit how shocked he was by the apparent incompetence of the FBI, of Jack “The Guru” Crawford. Months under their noses out of necessity and not even a wayward agent-in-training to come sniff around their little hideaway. Not that he was complaining. It just didn't bode well for Jack and the FBI if, without him, they seemed to be stumbling around in the dark with their thumbs up their asses.

Then again, he couldn't blame them. Will had played a very long game, and while he grew equal parts anxious and depressed and angry, he was a very patient man. He told Jack. In his way, he warned him. He was a good fisherman. Give him something to catch and he could wait until the stars died to get what he wanted. And he wasn't the only one playing. Hannibal had his own pieces on the board, some just as hidden as Will's. The deadliest version of Stratego. Where were all the bombs?

Still, Jack should be getting a faint sniff of a trail by now. He wondered if what was left of Dolarhyde ever washed up on a nearby shore from where his body took a plunge into the churning Atlantic. Or perhaps it never made it that far. Maybe, like Jonah, Dolarhyde found himself in the belly of a whale. It was a final destination a pretender to the throne didn't deserve, but it would make things a lot easier for Will.

Delicate steps came around the corner of the kitchen and Will stopped his vigilant stirring to nod a morning greeting to Chiyoh. He waited until she sat at the counter, slim hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea, to tilt the skillet in her direction. “Breakfast?”

“No, thank you. I will make something later myself.”

It was always the same answer, no matter the time of day. Her wary yet polite tone never failed to delight Will, nor the sidelong glance she gave whatever he cooked cease to amuse him. His poker face collapsed and he laughed as she gave him a look that told him she knew how much he enjoyed toying with her and, if she could, she would stab him with the nearest object. At least she was no longer trying to seriously maim him.

In the last few months they had reached an understanding. Neither would have to watch their back around the other. Honestly, Will didn't know what would have happened to them if not for Chiyoh. If not for Hannibal's planning. Will wasn't the only one planning every detail and outcome these long years.

One of the last things he remembered of the night with the Red Dragon was this overwhelming feeling of detached euphoria. Unlike anything he had ever experienced, and there were so many incredible moments he had with Hannibal.

But this? This was beyond anything Will could have imagined. For all his imagination could conjure, he would never have been able to entirely predict the way he felt when he finally killed with Hannibal. Beautiful. Raw. Animalistic. It was a sensation that would take days to completely fade and it overpowered him entirely. It swept him off his feet. It threatened to rob him of all his senses. It made him weak in the knees and not care in the slightest if he and Hannibal were to die right then. For who could fear death after experiencing the blinding bliss of the cosmos?

It was a wonder he didn't topple them over the cliff in his delirium.

His memories were foggy, heated snippets after that. Not long after their fight, Chiyoh was there. She brought someone with her. A quiet, faceless figure. Will didn't need to know them. They saw to Hannibal's gunshot wound and that was all that mattered to him. All Will remembered was the blood that flowed from Hannibal's abdomen as his healer checked for any shrapnel, any internal bleeding. Will's eyes never left Hannibal's. Not even as Hannibal lay passed out on the bed. As Will's face and shoulder were stitched back into place.

That same night, moon high in the sky, Will found himself outside. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chiyoh watching him. Never interfering, her participation was only ever observation. Perhaps she was used to such things. Through the haze of painkillers Will somehow had a knife in his hand. It wasn't Dolarhyde's. It was sharp though. Perfect for separating the cuts he wanted from bone and tendon.

There would be no grand tableau. No merging of man and beast. No dancing fireflies. Dolarhyde didn't deserve to be immortalized in such a way. Will was grateful that the Red Dragon presented him such a miraculous opportunity, and he would honor that, but nothing was more satisfying than throwing Dolarhyde over the cliff once Will was through with him.

The pain must have finally kicked in. Adrenaline and shock must have finally wore off and took hold. His next patchy memories could span minutes or days. He woke to Chiyoh checking his wounds, trying and failing to pry Will from Hannibal's side where he lay beside him on the bed. He wasn't sure if he imagined it or not, but he could swear Chiyoh flinched away when Will snarled at her in his frenzy, crouching over Hannibal's limp body as if to ward off any would-be threats.

It could have been a day later. Or two. Or five. Tender touches along his right cheek woke him next. His heavy eyelids fluttered open to find Hannibal checking his wound with hazy eyes. Chiyoh, or someone, had washed the blood and viscera from Will. They both were bruised and bandaged, naked beneath one silk sheet. As Hannibal's hand slid down his jawline to his stitched shoulder, Will found himself exploring his own careful touches along Hannibal's wound.

He couldn't tell much from the large bandage. At least there was no blood seeping through the material. Prison and time had softened Hannibal's body but not by much. Will had seen now just what this body was capable of. There was still the feeling of hard muscle and strength hiding within. Without thinking too deeply, Will's hand drifted up. Raised lines of scars caught his fingertips. Fine hair tickled his palm. When he thought to look up he found Hannibal staring at him.

The slightest tilt of Will's head towards him and Hannibal took up his wandering hand to bring to his mouth. Hannibal's eyes closed as he took in the scent of him, the feel of him against his lips. The finest, fairest lashes Will had ever seen fanned and fluttered against sharp cheekbones. Will dreamed of those cheekbones so many times over the years. A kiss to his calloused palm, soothing the cuts from a slippery blade. A tentative skim of touch over the indention on Will's finger where a ring used to be.

His wedding band was long gone. Tossed aside in much the same way as Dolarhyde's cold corpse. Another thing claimed by the ocean below. The missing ring seemed to be Hannibal's breaking point and he whispered Will's name in such a reverent way it made Will ache for him.

It occurred to Will that their old game was over. Reciprocity ran its course. An eye for an eye. Even-steven. Suddenly he could see only what lay ahead. Thousands of paths in thousands of directions. Endless possibilities. With Hannibal. Like it was always supposed to be. There was nothing left for Will to do but close the space between them, destroy that one last forbidden boundary keeping them apart.

They couldn't do much. Will barely spoke, keeping his stitches from tearing as he enjoyed his hard-earned attentions from Hannibal. Hannibal had to watch his own movements lest he set his healing back. They were both still so sore and tired. But it was worth it. It was necessary. To have proof they survived. They were together. To finally have Hannibal in his arms. To finally allow himself to want and have and take. To keep. To cherish. To protect.

To love.

For as long as he was given this rare, beautiful gift.

When next he woke, it was to the sound of creaking floorboards. Or so he assumed, for mere seconds after he opened his eyes to the darkened room, Chiyoh came in to check on them. In the moonlight he could see her hesitance once she stepped inside. It was different this time. This was no longer a sickroom but a nest. The sheets were twisted around them. Their bodies cooling, drenched in sweat from passion and not from illness or injury. Will made no move to hide what was obvious they had just finished doing. He did not stop the satisfied, possessive smile pulling dangerously at his stitches as he met Chiyoh's calm stare, Hannibal asleep in his arms.

That was the beginning of their budding friendship. Chiyoh did not partake in Hannibal's appetites but she understood and accepted his inclinations. She loved Hannibal. Will loved Hannibal. They bonded over their connection. When he was able, Will helped Chiyoh around the house and with Hannibal, with their preparations for the future. They both agreed it wouldn't be wise to travel until Hannibal was completely healed. So they laid low and played house. It wasn't exactly a hardship, even with the threat of the FBI hovering over their heads.

Will smiled as he turned off the fire on the stove and reached for a plate, thinking over the peace of the last few months. No, none of this new life of his had been hard at all.

* * * * *

He set his tray on the nightstand beside the bed when he came into their room. The heavy curtains kept the piercing morning sun at bay and Will began lighting the candles near and on the headboard instead of opening them.

“Something smells exquisite,” Hannibal said, voice a muffled growl against his pillow.

When Will returned to the tray he found Hannibal sitting against the headboard, sheet pooling around his hips and looking curiously at what might be under the gleaming silver domes. Will placed the tray carefully over Hannibal's lap before removing the lids off both heaping plates.

“Shrimp and cheesy grits with poached eggs and hollandaise sauce.”

Hannibal took in what was presented to him. It would never be as elaborate as anything he did, but the taste would make up for it. Will also brought a plate of toast, butter, jam and a pot of coffee with thick cream and sugar. As Will got comfortable on the other side of the tray and moved their dishes around for easier access, Hannibal watched him with a playful gleam in his eyes.

“Do you often spoil your lovers with breakfast in bed?” Hannibal asked with a soft smile that made warmth radiate through Will's body.

He laughed and shook his head, passing Hannibal a cup of coffee. “No. This is the first time I've ever even thought to look for a bed tray, let alone utilize it for its intended purpose. And, of course, you have some.”

“Of course. I shall continue to consider myself privileged for such special treatment from you.”

“Well, today's a special day.” Will sipped his coffee and slathered a piece of buttered toast with the chunky jam. He took a moment to savor the bite, the tart strawberry and lime tingling on his tongue after the smoky taste of the coffee. “Today you can, officially, eat heavier foods again.”

Will leaned over their breakfast spread to kiss Hannibal and whisper a good morning against his lips. He laughed when Hannibal followed his retreat, chasing the sweetness he left behind. Hannibal took up fork and knife, cutting into the eggs to let the bright orange yoke spill forth and pour across the spiced meat and grits. His movements were precise and graceful. No longer sluggish from healing and painkillers. Hannibal took his recovery seriously, working to regain his strength but not risking overdoing his exercises. The bandage was gone for weeks now. A new scar was all that remained. One pink star-shaped pucker on his abdomen.

Will tore his eyes from the sight to watch as Hannibal took his first bite. It was something he would never grow tired of, the reactions he pulled from Hannibal with his cooking. He chose not to be offended whenever he seemed surprised by the quality and depth of flavor of each dish. Just because he _knew_ how to cook didn't mean he _wanted_ to, especially after he befriended the good doctor and was invited more often than not to his table. He didn't obtain the same level of enjoyment as Hannibal did in the kitchen. To Hannibal, meals were akin to a type of theatre. Another chance to dazzle and enchant.

Still Hannibal paused after taking a bite, seeming to luxuriate in the richness of the dish, the heat of the spices and the creaminess of the sauce and grits. He took his time chewing, throat working slowly as he swallowed the tender bite. Hannibal plucked his cup from the side of his plate and let the fragrant steam of the coffee waft against his lips before taking a sip. His warm eyes found Will's, face half hidden behind porcelain.

“To be served such decadent foods as shrimp for breakfast by a beautiful man, I must have been a saint in another life.”

There was that teasing glint to his eyes and Will's pulse quickened. He took up his own drink, enjoying a long pull before setting it aside. He couldn't help the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth though he tried to school his features into something more serious. “Technically, it's more dragon than shrimp but I'll take the compliment.”

Of course Hannibal already knew. His sense of smell and taste was something of a wonder to Will and he enjoyed testing the scope of it. By the delighted look on his face he just wanted Will to say it aloud. He took Will's hand in his, kissing the inside of his wrist and breathing deeply for a moment. It seemed to ground him, as if the knowledge of Will butchering, preparing and bringing meat to their table threatened to destroy his perfect composure.

They finished their breakfast in no hurry. The candlelight flickered dancing shadows around the room as they shared stories and stole kisses between bites. By the time Will cleared the dishes away he was warm and full in body and spirit. It was exhilarating to think this was his life now. To see this man every day, forever. For the rest of their lives—and if Will had anything to do with that, it would be a long life together.

Hannibal finally rose from their bed to slip on a pair of soft pants. Will came behind him to drag a robe up his arms. Just like every time he saw it, he paused his movements to press a kiss to Hannibal's back. Over the raised scar of the Verger brand. Hannibal hummed in pleasure, allowing Will his ritual devotion. Will trailed kisses from there over his broad shoulder before closing the robe, keeping Hannibal caught in his hold for a moment longer. Just one more moment before they started their day. He turned his head to look at Will, fine silver hair once again long enough to fall over his eyes.

“Are you ready to leave this place?”

Will pressed closer, scraping his beard against Hannibal's neck and delighting in the reaction he got for such a display. “This has been our sanctuary for so long, I've almost forgotten anything else exists beyond these grounds. But yes, I am ready. Now that you are.” With him or not at all. It went without saying.

“Where will we go?” Hannibal's voice was a breathy wisp of a thing. Not from pain or drowsiness. Will smiled as he nibbled his earlobe, one hand wandering across his stomach to play gentle touches along his scar.

“Anywhere. Everywhere. Don't try to tell me you don't already have a place in mind.”

“I do. A surprise.” Hannibal turned and pulled Will in for a proper kiss. He took his time, savoring the feel of him, the taste. His hands were so gentle as they cradled his face, thumbs caressing his jaw. He pulled back enough to gaze at him with unabashed adoration. “But tell me if there is something you want. Anything. You have only to ask and I will give you anything you want, Will.”

He meant it. Nothing was too much. Will had seen him do it before. That's what made playing with each other so much fun. Hannibal would do anything for him. Even at the cost of his own comfort, his freedom, his life. Such love almost ruined their game. All those years of waiting and Will could feel a part of himself wither and die with each passing day of separation until he was a shell of who he really was. Will almost threw in the towel so many times but knew the pay-off would be worth the wait. To win Hannibal completely made the torturous pleasure of their game so much sweeter in the end.

Will took Hannibal by the hands, fingers tangling in an easy grip. “I'll defer this time to you. Take me wherever you want, Doctor.”

A slow smile crept over Hannibal's pale lips, teeth glinting in the candlelight. “As you wish.”

* * * * *

Clouds were rolling in. The blue skies from before gave way to swollen gray clouds. No more birds flew overhead. They left to seek shelter hours before. The only sound was the swell and crash of giant waves dashing against the crumbling bluff. It was going to get very bad very soon.

The house on the cliff stood strong as it took another beating from another storm. Thunder rattled the windows. Lightning lit up every dark corner every few seconds. Torrents of rain washed more plants and soil away, swept away in the roiling Atlantic. Soon everything would rest at the bottom of those dark waters.

But the house was cold. The sheets covering everything inside had a light coat of dust. No one was witness to the act of God blowing about outside. Long ago indeed was the last time life and warmth filled the posh rooms.

There was no one there but old ghosts.

**Author's Note:**

> Since we saw her fade into the trees after Hannibal surrendered to Jack, I never doubted we hadn't seen the last of Chiyoh, nor that she wouldn't keep an eye on Hannibal. I think she wouldn't be too far from them after their fall, real or symbolic. I wanted to play around with Will's culinary knowledge, as well. And his background. I thought him doing something Creole would be fun, but that's just me maybe... Also “on mangera” is Louisiana French for “we will eat.” Because I am trash. And I love themes.
> 
> I hope anyone reading this enjoyed the tale. Drop me a line, if you want. Come visit me if you want on [tumblr](http://zharvolk.tumblr.com/)!


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